Just Friends
by Bon-Bon Emerson
Summary: After Iris breaks Barry's heart to bits in "Rogue Time", Barry considers his feelings towards the one friend who has stood by him the whole time, through thick and thin. For now, this is canon compliant and features Snowbarry moments between eps. Includes a little Iris-bashing in the first chapter. Rated T for language. You have been warned. PLEASE R & R! Reviews are hugs to me :)
1. A Friend Like Her

**This fic is a Snowbarry storyline set after and between the episodes of late Season 1, with the relevant episode(s) indicated at the beginning of each chapter. This particular chapter takes place after the end of Season 1, Episode 16 "Rogue Time". Enjoy, and please review!**

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Barry sat on the couch next to the flowers he'd bought for Iris, staring lividly at the stupid, half-consumed beer in his hand, furious at the thought that it could no longer drown his sorrows. Using his superspeed, he skolled the rest of it and threw it at the corner of the ceiling, only to run and catch it whilst it was still arcing mid-air. No matter how angry and upset he was feeling, this wasn't his house. It was Joe's, and Joe, he knew, would not tolerate rage-trashing the place, even if Barry could clean up after himself in mere seconds (if that even).

Joe was working late tonight, and as such, Barry had the house to himself. Well, him, his beer and his flowers, which he noticed were just beginning to wilt. He resigned himself to repeatedly dropping and catching the bottle just milliseconds before it had a chance to hit the ground and send shards speeding out in all directions like shrapnel. Over and over again. It was becoming clear to him that, now that he was used to moving at superhuman speeds, it wasn't really _that_ much fun using his powers to do mundane tasks just for the sake of it.

Yet, Barry continued playing with the bottle, torturing it. Continually fooling it into thinking that he would finally end its suffering and let it shatter. Doing what Iris did to him every second that he was around her. Coming close to, but not quite smashing his heart to smithereens, all the time. It was during these moments that being the fastest man alive was much less a blessing and much more a curse, as each second could easily drag like heavy baggage for what felt like hours.

Over and over in his head, the contrasting painfully brief moment in which he was kissing Iris, holding her, unashamedly showing her how much he loved her, replayed. Those mere minutes, so perfect and so unadulterated (ironically, as they had both been committing adultery at the time), when he knew for sure that she loved him back. They were together and happy, and it didn't even matter that she knew his secret. Everything was okay for once. Okay, for once in this weird and screwed up twenty-five year saga Barry called his life. For once something had gone right. Someone who wasn't a bully or a metahuman was after him, and not in a high-speed chase kind of way. For once he didn't have to face the thrashing, searing, slicing, scorching sting of rejection administered by the only woman he'd ever truly loved. For once, he finally had one of the few things in this life that he so desperately wanted, nay, _craved _like an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet after a long night of fighting metahuman villains. For once, his smile wasn't a mask hiding the kind of emotional numbness one must adopt to survive seeing someone feel exactly what you feel for them, for someone else, every day; Barry's smile was _genuine_. But, how could he even know the true meaning of that word any more, after a having such a moment of _genuine _happiness and _genuine _feelings, that time had simply snatched away in a flash? Time hadn't just screwed him; it had really fucked him up the metaphorical ass. Violated him and left him even more emotionally fragile than he had been before. Before he had any idea that Iris had any sort of more-than-platonic feelings for him. Barry felt a pang of empathy for the bottle in his hand and momentarily ceased his sick game, before realising that it was an inanimate object and resuming.

_Did I just relate to a freaking bottle? How frickin' crazy am I? How frickin' crazy does _she _make me? _Barry mentally slapped himself in the face. This is what Iris did to him; she drove him absolutely insane sometimes. The events of the last few days (or day? He wasn't sure, and wasn't bothered getting into yet another mental argument with himself about it) only made his predicament a hell of a lot worse. She did have feelings for him, she had said it herself; "the reason that I couldn't stop thinking about you, was because I didn't want to". Lies. _Lies._ That was the perfect word to describe everything that she'd said to him. Pure lies, spluttered desperately in the heat of the moment. A moment which kept replaying in his mind, her words echoing and, in hindsight, dripping with derision. If a person looks too good to be true, they usually are. That was the philosophy his job had forced him to adopt; in his few years working with the CCPD, he had investigated too many crimes to count where the perpetrator had been the kind of person who had been "beneath suspicion".

He began to wonder why he had put up with her crap for so long, as he stopped dropping the bottle to grip it tightly in his hand, and stare angrily at the flowers. Why she hadn't noticed his more-than-just-friends feelings for her, when they were apparently obvious to _everyone else _who knew the two of them, including his own father, who he'd _barely seen in fifteen years_. Why he hadn't told her how he felt earlier, when she was still single and available; before junior prom, when he went away to college, when he came back from college, one of the many nights that they'd stayed up talking, one of the fourteen Christmases or twenty-eight birthdays they'd shared or, most infuriatingly of all, the night the particle accelerator had been switched on. Why he had let her string him along _for fifteen years_. Why he had let her be _such a …_

No. Just no. He couldn't call Iris that word, not even in his mind. Not even when there was no one else around to hear it. He just cared about her too much to do that. Nay, _loved _her too much. He loved her. Love. God, that word!

He could no longer stand even the word itself any more. It was vile. Disgusting. Intriguing. Legendary, in a way. How could a single word express such pain and such joy, such happiness and such sorrow, in only four letters? How could there be such an emotion with the power to both fulfil and destroy you? Heaving a heavy sigh, Barry begrudgingly admitted to himself, as he had numerous times before, that the scientific method couldn't solve every problem or investigate every hypothesis. His gaze retreated from the bouquet and found refuge in the opening of the empty bottle, which had by now made its way to rest between his knees, his hands cradling its neck.

He realised that holding onto such feelings, and holding out hope that they may be one day reciprocated, was unhelpful, and futile, and, quite literally, a punch in the face. Eddie had reminded him of that. As much as Barry was jealous, he didn't hate the guy, and as much as being in a coma for nine months only to wake up to the love of his life in the arms of another man sucked, he didn't hate Doctor Wells either. If he was being really, brutally honest with himself, he could just bring himself to admit that having those extra nine months with Iris probably wouldn't have made a difference. What's nine extra months when you've been living in the same house as the girl of your dreams for over a decade? Had he been there, honestly, when Iris and Eddie began to fall for each other, he probably wouldn't have done anything to stop it. Nothing. Using the coma, as well as "the man in yellow" as scapegoats had served as a nice security blanket, but deep down, Barry knew that the only thing that had been standing in the way of him and Iris being together, of his own happiness, was himself. And now that he'd seen how Iris _really_ felt about him, he knew for certain that this was true.

At that instant, he was once again standing face-to-face with Eddie, who was smashing him in the face. The punch itself hurt, but the sentiment behind it hurt even more. "I thought we were friends," Eddie had said, and it was when he said that, that Barry had briefly caught the look in the detective's eyes and known that he too, was hurt, and not just angry. Squeezing his dangerously moist eyes shut, Barry put that moment out of his mind and, instead, recalled the warm, apologetic hug that Eddie had greeted him with the next time they saw each other. _Lightning-induced psychosis_, that's what Caitlin, his saving grace, had told them. The thought of her, lying out of her ass to save his brought a little smile to his face, for the first time that night. _What a friend_, he thought to himself. He realised that he ought to thank her properly; no one had ever told such a twisted yet perfect lie for his sake before. He tilted back his head and rubbed his watery eyes, before resettling them on the bouquet which, upon second glance, didn't appear so dull and so fast-fading as it had before.

_I should give _her _the flowers. She really does deserve them_, Barry decided. _I really need more friends like her in my life_. The kind of friends whom you feel like you've known for years, despite only having known them for a few months (well, a little over a year technically, but time spent unconscious, in Barry's mind, didn't really count). The kind of friends who worry about your safety all the time, even when you have superhuman speed. The kind of friends who ask you to sing karaoke with them, and later to stay by their bedside until they fall asleep when they're not quite shitfaced enough to pass out immediately. The kind of friends who you know would never do anything to hurt your feelings, and usually know what's actually going on inside your head.

Before any more thoughts could bloom like the flowers Barry was staring at dreamily, the beer bottle was on the floor in pieces, the bouquet protectively hidden inside his jacket and he was superspeeding his way to Caitlin's apartment. In a literal instant he was at her front door, and had pulled out the flowers. Thankfully, his jacket had shielded them well and they'd survived the journey mostly intact. He politely pressed the doorbell once, before super-speedily rapping on the door, vibrating his hand as he knocked. She knew about his powers, so why not use them when it's only in front of her? Why not?

It was when that rhetorical question casually wandered into his mind that he regretfully began to actually answer it. _Why not? Why shouldn't I be knocking on Caitlin's door at 1 a.m.?_

The next two words to emerge in his head hit him harder than all the times Tony Woodward's fists ever had, combined.

_Oh shit_.

There were in fact, many, many reasons that he shouldn't have been knocking on Doctor Snow's door at 1 a.m., not the least of which was the fact that it was _1 in the freaking morning_. Great. Not only was he giving her a gift that he knew he'd think was stupid and regret in the morning (despite the fact that he wasn't the slightest bit drunk), but he had also just woken her up in the middle of the night on account of something that was completely and totally trivial, 100%. Maybe. Maybe not? _Did she actually hear me? _he wondered hopefully. Gently pressing his ear to her front door, his hopes that he hadn't just pissed Caitlin the hell off were quickly dashed by the sound of mouse-like footsteps scurrying about on the other side. Metallic, trembling keys quickly reassured him that the footsteps hadn't just been an extreme auditory insomnia-induced hallucination. He obviously still had plenty of time to speed away, and pretend that this had never happened. However, apart from his quivering lungs sucking in shallow, nervous breaths and his remorseful heart beating irregularly, his body refused to move; the fastest man alive was frozen.

Caitlin had opened the door between her and Barry in a flash; even he was surprised at how quickly she'd responded to his knocking. Too late to dash off now. Taking a quick moment before she could greet him to observe her facial expression and body language, Barry noted that she didn't _seem _too angry, and, as he noticed the very day he met her, she wasn't particularly good at hiding her feelings. Her mouth was in its usual slight, contemplative frown, and her body had the confident posture and stance that he had come to expect. She would have looked like she had just woken up and was getting ready for an honest day's work, if it hadn't been for her eyes; they were currently very wide and seemingly frightened in a way that he had never seen on her face before. A look of worried concern immediately grasped his own facial features just as she began to speak.

"Barry, I thought it was you speed-knocking. What's wrong? Are you okay?" Caitlin quickly murmured, eyeing him as though she was expecting to hear something terrible.

Barry stuttered. "N... N-Nothing's wrong Caitlin, I-I just really wanted to give these to you," Barry awkwardly raised the hand holding the bouquet up between their chests.

Looking puzzled, but still not mad, Caitlin replied, "Flowers, in the middle of the night? That's a strange-"

"I know, I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have woken you up. It's just, you've been a really good friend to me, and I, you know, I really haven't thanked you properly for saving my ass after what I said to Iris, and just… thank you."

After he'd finished rambling, Barry gave himself the opportunity to notice that Caitlin's mouth had morphed into one of its signature small but sincere smiles, and her fearful eyes were now almost at ease. Looking warmly at the bunch she'd by now taken into both of her hands, she cracked a grin before gazing up into Barry's eyes with an expression that looked, to him, somewhat like relief.

"Thank you, they're beautiful. And don't mention it, you're just as good a friend to me as I am to you, if not better," Caitlin whispered.

At this Barry couldn't help but chuckle. Giving him no time to protest, however, she continued, "C'mon, I know that you would've done the same for me. Remember when we were out that night and I got ridiculously hammered? Well, I don't think I could count on any of my other friends to superspeed me out of a club like that so that I could throw up in privacy, or to get me into my PJs without peeking."

The two smiled at the memory of trying to have a fun night out together, even if it didn't end as well as they'd hoped. Barry began to retreat, but Caitlin interrupted him before he could bid her farewell.

"Wait, please don't go yet!"

"What is it?" Barry moved back closer to her, happy to spend a minute or two longer with her.

"I'm actually glad that you woke me up. I was having a nightmare where you were about to die and… it was horrible. I… I don't think I can live without you, Barry."

All Barry could do then was stare at her, in complete awe of how much she cared. Gazing into her fragile eyes, he cautiously took a step forward, and leaned in.


	2. Uncertainty

**This chapter takes place after Season 1, Episode 18 "All Star Team Up", and continues the story set up by the first chapter. Enjoy, and PLEASE review!**

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It was about a fortnight later that Barry once again found himself hunched over on his couch, silently staring at a half-consumed alcoholic beverage in his hand. However, this time the night was younger, his poison of choice was scotch, and he was sharing his space with Caitlin, of all people.

Much like last time, it was immediately after touching base in his lab with Joe about suspicions regarding Dr Wells. Now, however, they had also just revealed their thoughts to Caitlin and Cisco, who had expressed starkly different viewpoints on the matter; stubborn disbelief and disturbed agreement respectively.

It was actually Joe who had invited everyone back to the West residence for a well-deserved and much-needed drink, after what felt like hours (especially to the fastest man alive) discussing, explaining and arguing. Even Barry was served an obligatory (but for him impotent) glassful. Cisco had left soon after the group inevitably stagnated in the living room in awkward silence, failing all attempts to ease their minds by conversing about something, anything, unrelated to work. Their need to do so, implied by the nature of Joe's invitation as an escape from the newly-unfolding drama, had been further reinforced by the presence of Iris, who was still refusing to return to Eddie's (hers and Eddie's?) place. She'd initially looked confused when she'd walked in on the group all staring quietly at the floor, but her eyes and mouth had narrowed after several seemingly casual questions about everyone's days and jobs had all been met with reluctantly mumbled sentences, none of which were longer than five words. The lack of conversation had further frustrated her, and shortly before Cisco went home, she'd also escaped the room in a huff. However, she had given herself enough time to individually stare at everyone in the room with a look of indignant disappointment, before saying, "Sometimes, I feel like you're all keeping something from me, not just Eddie. And, I don't even know why, because I've been nothing but nice and fair to all of you, and I'd just like to be treated the same way." Casting her disgruntled gaze particularly in Barry and Joe's direction, she angrily proceeded to head off to bed.

With nothing better left to do or say, it hadn't taken long for Joe to also abandon Barry and Caitlin. Adopting his fatherly persona, he'd stood to leave and murmured, "Turn off the lights when you go to bed, Barry. And don't stay up too much longer. You've both got work in the morning." Just catching the brief but uneasy flicker of Barry's eyes in the direction of Iris' room, he'd then taken a couple of steps closer to the speedster and, giving him a significant look, said "Don't worry about Iris. You're not Eddie; you're her best friend, and you know that she can't stay mad at you for long." Joe's voice, however, had noticeably faltered on his last sentence. This expressed the unspoken inevitability that both men were dreading; that Iris would grow suspicious and gradually begin to lose her trust in them. The drama with Eddie was only the beginning, they both knew (but tried to ignore), not the least because Barry, as fast as he was, was not a good liar.

The two remaining on the couch sat for a little while in comfortable silence, until Caitlin whispered, with a twinge of indignation, "We never did talk about what happened that night when you came and brought me flowers at… what was it, 1 a.m.?"

Barry looked straight into her eyes in shock, his evident surprise making the doctor chuckle a little. Her features remained locked in a neutral expression, however. He gulped down what was left of his scotch, looked around the room suspiciously and cleared his throat.

"Look, Caitlin, I've been meaning to… apologise and explain myself…"

She was now leaning forward with her feet planted firmly on the floor, her head cocked to the side, and biting her lower lip, Barry noticed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, unsure as to what exactly it was that was bothering her. Was it what he'd done? Was it the fact that he hadn't told her yet why he'd done it, or brought up the incident since? Was it both?

"Nothing, nothing. Just, say what you were going to say." She'd pressed her lips firmly together into a slight frown, her teeth no longer showing.

Barry sighed and couldn't stop himself from staring at the ground as he spoke, like a kid who was being scolded by a teacher; "I'm sorry I showed up uninvited to your house the other night at a less than reasonable hour, and I'm sorry that I…"

He paused to bow his head, close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in humiliation. Barry took a moment to awkwardly raise his head and once again meet Caitlin's gaze. She was beginning to look a little more uncomfortable, with her posture stiffening, but she widened her eyes and gave a little expectant nod, so he continued.

"… sorry I tried to kiss you."

That part now over, Barry was able to semi-confidently cruise through the rest of what he had to say. Hoping to draw attention away from that particular detail which, really, was only minor, he kept talking, giving Caitlin no chance to comment or question.

"And I'm also sorry for literally speeding off without as much as another word to you, let alone an apology or explanation. I was in a bit of a bad place that night, what with yet another Iris drama which was totally my own fault, and I didn't mean it. Can we please, please just forget that this ever happened and simply not tell anyone and just let it go and go back to being friends?"

He inhaled deeply and tilted his head back, running both hands through his hair. As his mouth and eyes crinkled into a desperate frown, Caitlin stared down into her own glass which had long been empty. As she contemplatively placed it on the floor, Barry grunted and pleaded, "Please… I just need _one _friend who I can trust and with whom I don't have some sort of weird or complicated history. Can we do that, please?"

Caitlin's eyes were now narrowed, and she was biting her lip again, this time more aggressively. "We won't discuss this right now, but assuming that your wild accusations of Dr Wells are even slightly true, what about Cisco? Why can't you trust him?"

Barry lowered both the pitch and volume of his voice. "Because _he_ doesn't trust _me_. Caitlin, there is a criminal out there who knows who the Flash is and who I had to promise not to lock up providing that he doesn't kill anyone, and it's all Cisco's fault."

Taken aback, Caitlin shouted in response, "That's not fair Barry. Cold was torturing Cisco's brother!"

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about how it's Cisco's fault that Cold even got the gun in the first place!" Barry gritted his teeth and swore before leaning forward, cupping his forehead with both palms. Caitlin slammed her eyelids shut too slow to prevent a hot tear from drawing a line right through her cheek, and embedded her front two teeth into her lip with a force that made it bleed.

Feeling the desperate need to change the subject, Caitlin stuttered, "Did it hurt, Barry? Seeing Felicity with Ray?"

Contorting his face into an awkward frown whilst it was still half-covered by his hands, Barry slowly sighed, "No, no. There's nothing there. Well, I like to _think_ that there's nothing there, but we have a kind of chemistry we can't deny and that's why we're not quite _just _friends, if you know what I'm saying. That's why I need you Cait-"

Barry's speech stopped dead in its tracks as soon as he'd flicked his head sideways to give Caitlin some eye contact, when he noticed the stains on her face left by tears and blood from biting her lip too hard.

"Oh my God, Caitlin." In a split-second he'd retrieved a handful of tissues and was tenderly wiping her face with them. "Hold still. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Not that this is any excuse, I'm just going through a _very _confusing time right now, and I _need _to be able to have people like you who I can talk to. I'm really grateful and lucky to have you around. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Caitlin hummed. "You don't need to clean me up you know."

A small smile beginning to bloom on Barry's face, he replied, "Well you've done it for me more times than I can count. And that's not even taking into account the nine months I was comatose and you cared for me. It's about time that I repaid the favour."

Their eyes became and remained locked onto each other's as a spark of emotions rushed between them.


	3. Those Nine Months

**This chapter occurs on the same night as and after the events of last chapter. Reviews are hugs :) Enjoy!**

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As Caitlin drove home, she nodded to herself. She _could _pretend that the almost-kiss had never happened, and she _could _be the apparently only friend Barry had who he could be completely open and honest with. Was that exactly what _she _wanted? No, but making sacrifices was what friends were meant to do for each other, and considering that Barry did so all the time for complete strangers, her doing so for a man she'd come to consider one of her closest friends wasn't that much of a stretch.

She sucked her lip a little and winced at the residual pain her bite had left. She instinctively wanted to bite it again, but the tip of her tongue would, for now, have to make do as a substitute.

Her mind trailed back to what Barry, Cisco and Joe had said about Dr Wells earlier that night. Briefly shutting her eyes in an attempt to prevent those thoughts turning into anger, she let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a grunt. They were all really smart people, but even smart people were wrong sometimes. Thomas Edison, Abraham Lincoln, Marie Curie… all very smart, successful people in their own right who had made mistakes and failed at one time or another. Now was obviously just one of those times for her friends.

However, as Caitlin halted suddenly at the red light she almost didn't notice, another thought occurred to her. She and many other people, Dr Wells included, considered herself "smart". She knew all too well that she, also, was capable of making mistakes. Could this possibly be one of her less-than-enlightened moments? Going by the collective opinions of a group of very smart people, one of which had superpowers, the odds were three to one. The notion sent a sickening chill down the doctor's spine. The feeling proceeded to slide down her limbs, reaching the very tips of her extremities, and even to climb up into her skull, where it coiled itself up and became a throbbing headache. Blinking rapidly, the defeated scientist pulled over as soon as the traffic lights glowed green.

Caitlin closed her now-reddening eyes and leaned forward onto the steering wheel, covering her face like a toddler playing hide-and-seek. She was now beginning to feel just as helpless and naïve as one, and was, in fact, attempting to hide from something; the pain. That was, after all, what she'd been doing for over a year now, what with her destroyed career and relationship with Ronnie. Admittedly, her levels of success in doing so had varied; some days she'd come close to choking on her own tears, not being able to stop crying until she'd reached dehydration levels which she, as a doctor, knew to be dangerous; other days, she'd been able to keep herself just busy enough to not feel anything. For months, to her, a day in which she'd felt nothing was an achievement in itself, as was a faked smile, or a phone call to her parents in which she'd been able to lie believably enough to convince them that yes, she was doing okay.

All that had been keeping the heartbroken doctor from falling into the chasm of insanity during those terrible months, she realised, were her boys; Cisco, Barry and Dr Wells. Cisco, for his friendship and shared grief over losing Ronnie; Barry, for the dim ember of hope he represented that something could be salvaged from the wreckage this disaster had left in its wake; and Wells, for the bond of trust and loyalty the two shared that not even a particle accelerator-induced explosion or lightning bolt could destroy. It was then that she knew; her friends _were_ wrong. She was right this time. She had to be. Wells was and always had been an intelligent, caring, compassionate man whose only wish was to make a difference to the world, and none of these qualities, she recalled, had been so evident as they were in the nine months following the explosion. All his apologies, all his consoling hugs, and all his compensation offers to her and other victims' family members, she decided, were more than enough to convince her that he was a good man who wasn't possibly capable of homicide.

Looking after a man in a coma wouldn't have been an easy task in "normal" circumstances, much less the "impossible" scenario that Barry's body had found itself in, but caring for him had been, funnily enough, exactly what Dr Snow had needed. With her beloved fiancé now dead (or so she'd thought at the time), she'd needed a distraction, she'd needed something to look after, and she'd needed to _feel_ needed. A comatose victim of a lightning strike had provided her with all of those things.

The first day, she realised, that she'd felt anything better than nothing since the explosion had been the day that Barry woke up. He had been the first success story her career had brought her in what felt like centuries. To have seen life as opposed to mere survival at last course through her patient's body after months of inaction, months of seizures and (what appeared to be) cardiac arrests, months of her _almost hoping_ that he'd just freaking die already and give the Wests some closure; to have called that moment wonderful would have been an understatement.

Knowing what she now knew about Barry's health, his abilities and how he was using these to help others, she let out a shaky sigh whilst a wave of nausea crashed and immersed her as she remembered all those days that she'd almost hoped would be Barry's final. Almost, but not quite hoped, for two reasons; firstly, because hope was at that time a foreign feeling to her, and secondly, because she had had almost-hope that Barry would, in fact, be okay. It was a paradox, she realised, that at that time she couldn't completely hope for one thing because she couldn't completely hope for the exact opposite thing.

Her headache sharpened, jolting her like an electric shock and snatching her from her thoughts. That was shortly followed by a pained squeal that, had Caitlin not been alone in her car, she would have thought someone else had made. Looking around in desperation, one small stray tear managed to snake its way haphazardly to meet the left corner of her mouth before Caitlin's cheeks became riverbeds. It wasn't until she began coughing and shaking as though she were having an asthma attack during an earthquake that she even noticed that she was crying. She was too lost in the horrible flashbacks of the night of the explosion, and what she now knew to be the longest and hardest nine months of her life. The hours spent lying in bed, racking her brain for a reason to get up at all; the spontaneous bouts of crying that had left her on the floor in the foetal position, with a sticky face, dry mouth, throbbing head, aching chest and salty lips; the sea of black suits and dresses at Ronnie's funeral that had almost drowned her; the harassing questions, prodding microphones and searing camera flashes of the press that mercilessly confronted her everywhere she went for the first few weeks; the long, silent stares shared with Cisco in place of their usual friendly banter that wouldn't have felt right without Ronnie's contribution, and through which the two were nearly always simply asking each other, _What now?_

In an attempt to break this circuit of emotions conducting these memories, memories that she'd many times woken up hoping were nightmares, she found and pinned down the memory of seeing Barry's gorgeous green eyes spring back to life for the first time. They were, in fact, gorgeous eyes, Caitlin reassured herself. But the memory served to make the distressed doctor's predicament worse, as one of her heartstrings was yanked by her recollection of the look of terror that was the first one she witnessed Barry wearing. Although this expression had been temporary, and one that she'd seen on several of her patients' faces before him, it served to make her closely consider, for the first time, just _why _he looked like that. He'd missed out on almost a year of his life. As a doctor, she was very familiar with the simple fact that life was short; how could she possibly comprehend what it was like to have nine months of such a short life just ripped away?

Dr Snow felt her tear ducts going into overdrive once more as a little pang of jealousy struck her heart. She would've given anything to have not been forced to live through those nine months, to have herself been the one in the coma. She _had _also lost almost a year of her life; the difference was that she'd had to sit idly by and actually _watch _all those dreadful days and sleepless nights drain away at a snail's pace. But Barry had gotten a lucky break, an easy out, as well as superpowers!

She smacked the horn in frustration, before sinking back into her seat as if it were quicksand and staring blankly out the window. Logic and reason beginning to re-enter her mind, it occurred to her that Barry, of all people, had really needed an easy out. He'd lost someone close to him too, and unlike Ronnie, Nora Allen was definitely not coming back. Although Ronnie and Caitlin's engagement was essentially over and things would never be the same between them again, at least she had the comfort of knowing that he was alive. And that her father wasn't serving a life sentence for a crime that he didn't commit. And that the guy she'd been in love with had loved her back and not hooked up with someone else during those nine months. A cringe like that of a sad clown spread across Dr Snow's face as, quietly, tears began to fill her eyes once more, but tears that this time carried in them a different emotion; guilt.

Before she knew it, her phone was sandwiched between her trembling hand and her sticky cheek, and she was impatiently waiting for her call to be answered. On what was probably the final ring before the call would have been sent to voicemail, a tired, croaky voice said her name.

Her small sobs causing her to stutter a little, she answered, "Hey. Barry, l-listen to me."

Her palm flew up to catch her still aching head after she registered that her voice had broken on the last syllable.

"Where are you?" he responded, his heroic concern evident in his voice.

As her sobbing became harder and more obvious, she whispered, "I'm not home yet, I'm on the side of the road. But-"

Her sentence was left unfinished, as the next sound she made was a surprised squeak when she heard a knock on her window.

Startled, she visibly jumped in her seat. Her shoulders slumped, however, and the rest of her body began to relax when she found herself face to face with Barry through the glass.

The doctor mentally kicked herself for being surprised at Barry's flashing over to find her the second that he sensed something was wrong with her.

After hanging up the phone and opening her window, she remarked, "That was fast, even for you," in a futile attempt to draw his attention away from how soaked her face was in tears and smeared makeup.

An open window, however, wasn't enough for the speedster. As he opened her door, he mumbled, "I know the way to your apartment, you know. That, along with when something is seriously wrong with the other person, is something that good friends tend to know about each other. And see, I have this strange tendency to move extremely fast when someone I care a lot about has something seriously wrong with them. Please get out and talk to me now."

She awkwardly stepped out, a bit unsteady on her feet as she did so, and leaned on the side of her car, grimacing as the cold air hit her wet face. He closed the door with, then laid on her shoulder one hand, as he used the other to wipe her face, before wrapping her snugly in his arms as she shook her head and whimpered while more tears escaped.

"This isn't just about the Dr Wells thing, is it?" he spoke softly, her shoulder now tucked under his chin.

She sniffed before pulling away enough to look up into his eyes, but not so much so that his arms weren't still around her.

She spoke swiftly as she said, "No, it isn't, and while I still disagree with you on that matter, what I wanted to say before was that I'm sorry. While you were in that coma, those were the absolute worst nine months of my life, and all I did during them was feel sorry for myself, when really you have had it so much worse than I have, and for that I'm sorry. I am so sorry Barry."

She wasn't sure if she was just seeing things through her watery eyes, but it looked to her like Barry was himself tearing up as he pulled her in. He then held her like he was holding on for dear life, for what felt like centuries.


	4. Sorry

**Once again, a continuation of last chapter. Enjoy, and please review!**

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Eventually, Barry tilted his head to stare straight into Caitlin's despairing, empty orbs. His own, by contrast, were full of emotions; sadness and friendly sympathy, of course, but most overwhelmingly, confusion.

"Caitlin, without you I wouldn't even be alive right now. And you lost your fiancé, for Christ's sake. You have _nothing _to be sorry for."

Caitlin broke their sweet hug and took a step away from Barry, hanging her head in shame as she whispered, "How the hell do you do it Barry?"

Cradling his friend's chin in one hand, Barry pulled Caitlin's head up gingerly, pleading for her eye contact. Flatly, he responded, "Do what?"

Cringing sarcastically, Caitlin quipped back, "Do what? Are you serious, Bartholomew Henry Allen? How do you do… _everything_? I honestly cannot fathom how you do anything that you do."

The doctor stopped to take a deep breath, creating a pause that Barry wished to fill but didn't, knowing that she still had more to say. He was right.

"You know, when you and other people say that you're the impossible, it's completely true. And, you're not just that way because you were struck by lightning. I mean, for the past fifteen years almost, you have been dealing with the loss of both your parents and watching the girl of your dreams just slip right through your fingers. I-"

Caitlin instantly regretted finally admitting her thoughts aloud when a faint gasp and quick turn of Barry's head let her know that she'd struck a nerve. His gaze averted, she remorsefully examined his eyes as they reached up into the night sky, then plummeted back down to earth and retracted behind their lids, like a frightened turtle hurriedly hiding in its shell. She then found that her own eyes were copying the actions of Barry's. Tears forming in all four, Caitlin quietly continued, "I'm sorry. I feel like I just cannot say that enough to you tonight. And, and I notice that you're constantly saying it, and I just want you to know that you don't have to Barry. You need to stop blaming yourself for every little thing that goes wrong, because it's not your fault Barry. It's not and you know that, so just please, do yourself a favour and say sorry to yourself."

Barry was fast growing agitated and restless, as he usually did, Caitlin had noticed, when he was emotional or someone was lecturing him on something that he didn't agree with. He'd been double-whammied with both this time, and it was really showing as he lightly hopped from foot to foot, moved his head about haphazardly and wrung his sweaty hands like sponges. When he finally settled himself enough to look her in the eyes again, the tears were still there in his red ones, waiting to be shed, but they were fast becoming laced with anger.

"Why do you have to do that, Caitlin?"

The tone of his voice was surprisingly neutral. His face was not, however, and it betrayed the impending punch that his next few words would pack. Hoping to get a word in before the inevitable explosion she'd just catalysed, his friend began to open her mouth, but was cut off the second that she did so.

"Why must you, and Joe, and the others always just treat me like I'm a child and like I don't know any better? Yes, my Mum died and yes, my Dad's in Iron Heights, and yes, it all really sucks balls but I'm not eleven years old any more. Only Joe and Iris have known me since I was that young, so what excuse do the rest of you have? And Wells, he's now likely to have been acting the way he does simply in order to manipulate me, but what about you and Cisco? And all of you act like I'm just this impulsive lunatic with no control over my emotions and who just goes along with whatever whim comes to mind. You all just think yourselves _lucky_ that I'm not one of the bad guys. Even Iris still tries to run my life, telling me who I should and shouldn't date, for example, and she doesn't even know that I'm the Flash. And she only doesn't know because Joe won't let me tell her! So many people know at this point Caitlin, some of whom are criminals, and some of whom are 600 miles away. What's just one more person finding out? What's that gonna hurt? What is the _catastrophe_ that letting my _best friend_ know is going to cause, hmm? God, even her stupid _boyfriend_ knows now! So in answer to your question, Dr Snow, even I don't know how the hell I do it all. I'm supposed to be the _motherfucking impossible_, like you said. 'Impossible', do you know what that word even means anymore? Because I sure don't. All I know is that, before I got struck by lightning at least, it meant, 'not possible'. As in, it would not possible for me to deal with this all on my own, except for the fact that _I am_ the impossible. I'm possible."

At this point, both of them were panting. Barry was compensating for all the breaths he'd missed and completely exhausted during his angry rant, and Caitlin was simply too shocked for words to express, so her breathing did it for her. The last and only other time that she'd seen him _this_ angry before was when Bivolo had 'whammied' him. This, however, was the very first time that she'd seen Barry _actually, really_, naturally angry. Anger was not what she, or anyone else who knew him would call a typical Barry emotion.

His display of this foreign emotion had scared and surprised her, but at the same time made her feel privileged, in a weird and twisted way. Weird and twisted in light of the fact that nothing she saw could really qualify to be called either of those words, considering what had happened over the past few months. She felt as though he had shown her the VIP room of his soul, a special and private place where few people were permitted and no one left feeling the same way as they had when they entered. Not only that, but she'd seen something special that was meant to be kept secret, lest it scare anyone away and prevent them seeing all of Barry's wonderful, more public characteristics. To her, it served as a reminder to one of his closest friends, and probably to him also, that the speedster wasn't invincible, nor perfect, nor even simply another metahuman. He was, above all else, human, even if he was also the impossible.

The doctor let one last stray tear fall before bravely responding to her enraged friend, adopting her professional doctor's air and maintaining her new found calmness as she spoke. "Once again, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you so upset. I hope you feel better now that you've gotten that off your chest though. Thank you for running out and meeting up with me here. With that, I think we'd both best be on our way."

She briefly laid a calming and friendly hand on his shoulder, before stepping away to open her car door. As she got into her seat, she felt the familiar sharp breeze that Barry always left in his wake as he sped away. She ran her hand quickly over her sticky, emotionally and physically drained face before driving the rest of the way back to her apartment.

The next morning, she found that, what must have been not too long after he arrived home last night, judging by the time stamp, Barry had texted Caitlin:

_**Sorry about that little… outburst. BTW, you have nothing to be sorry for. Thanx for listening to me rant, &amp; for the advice. I did mean wat I said, but as much as I hate to admit it, u were right. Ive taken ur advice and forgiven myself for it. I hope u will too.**_

In stark contrast to Barry's long text, Caitlin sent back a short and sweet reply:

**_Thanks, all g. _**

A few seconds later, however, she decided that that wasn't enough and decided to add something else:

**_We'll just forget that evr happened, k?_**

His reply, even shorter than Caitlin's initial one, came about half an hour later:

**_K, thanx._**

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**NB: The spelling/grammatical errors in the texts _were _intentional, to make them seem more realistic.**


	5. Tension

**Sorry that it's been so many months! I kind of lost my momentum after Season 2 gave us basically no Snowbarry moments. However, my shipping feels have been reignited, and this story is no longer on indefinite hiatus! This chapter occurs between Season 1, Episode 20 "The Trap" and Episode 21 "Grodd Lives". Enjoy and please review!**

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"Caitlin, I know that we've got… a lot going on right now, and Eddie's missing, but I think we should talk for just a minute."

Caitlin cringed, mentally and probably also physically (she wasn't feeling self-aware enough in that moment to take notice). She pursed her lips, then pushed them into a fake smile as she made an effort to reply casually, "Of course, Barry. What can I do for you?" As she responded, she slowly turned towards him, using her peripheral vision to ensure that he wasn't standing to close before coming around to directly face him.

"Now, I really don't want you to take this the wrong way, but you seem a little off to me."

"Can you really blame me after everything that's been going on?" she spoke softly.

"Did you really have to slap me awake after Everyman knocked out, bound and gagged me?" he urged her.

"That's was days ago, and you're asking me about that now?" came her dismissive reply.

"Yeah, and between all the vigilante drama, it's been bothering me a little bit ever since," he chided indignantly.

She had tried to pretend that it had never happened. She really had. But Dr Caitlin Snow was a scientist, not an actress. And neither she nor Barry were idiots. Sadly, that meant that the only normal, valid reason to slap one's friends, which was the presence of biting insects, wouldn't fool Barry today.

Falsely calm, she explained, "I was freaking out when I saw you… the way you were. I wasn't thinking straight, and in that moment my frazzled brain thought that the best way to awaken you would be to inflict sudden physical pain. That's all it was. I'm fine… well, as fine as I can be, given our almost impossible to believe circumstances. Now if you don't mind, we both have a lot on our plates, so let's get back to work." Caitlin began briskly walking over to the opposite end of the lab, trying to make herself look as busy as possible to discourage Barry from continuing the conversation.

Sadly for her, Barry wasn't taking the hint, or if he was, he was choosing to ignore it. How rude of him. "Everybody knows that when most women say they're fine they don't actually mean it."

"Okay, first of all, that's rather sexist of you. Secondly, _I'm_ not most women, Barry Allen. I would have thought that you know me better than that, you know, after all we've been through."

Her will to keep her secret was breaking. They could both tell. He could sense it, and she knew that.

Calmly, he responded, "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"That you're not just off about Wells and our situation and everything else; you're off about me."

"No I'm not _Barry Allen_! We are absolutely _fine_!" Caitlin screeched like an 11-year-old who'd just lost a game.

He'd finally made her snap. It wasn't the epic explosion of truth, revelation and sense that he'd been hoping for, but it was a start.

Standing close behind her, Barry whispered compassionately in her ear, "Caitlin, please."

"_Get away from me!" _she shouted in alarm, giving him a quick, firm push out of her personal space.

From his facial expression, one would have thought that Barry had just had the beating of his life. Horrified, she muttered "sorry" over and over in a high pitched voice as she dashed away into the bathroom, away from his hurt face before he could see her cry.

Too stunned to process the fact that she was running away, Barry didn't move until it was too late, and she'd locked herself in the bathroom.

He sped to where she was, stopping a little too late to prevent himself from lightly colliding with the closed door. His slightly pained grunt was answered by a startled gasp from within.

"Barry, are you alright?"

He drew a deep breath before he answered, "I would ask you the same question, but I already know the answer. So please, just tell me what's wrong, Caitlin. I want to fix whatever I or someone else did to make you so upset."

There was no verbal response, only the sound of poor attempts at muffling sobs.

"Caitlin Crystal Snow, please," Barry moaned, elongating each word as if it hurt to say them.

"Please what, Bartholomew Henry Allen?" she croaked back.

"Are you really going to do this to me, Caitlin? Just let me continue to feel like I'm walking on eggshells around you?" he muttered in annoyance, carefully controlling the volume of his voice.

"Are we really going to do this to ourselves, Barry? Again? This thing where we fight and I end up in tears but then we just forgive each other or pretend to, I don't know what it really is anymore, and then decide to just pretend it never happened instead of really properly talking about it."

Deciding to ignore most of what she'd stuttered out between coughs and sniffles, Barry exclaimed in exasperation, "This thing? What are talking about? It's not like it happens enough for it to be a _thing_. We're meant to be friends Caitlin, not enemies."

"Yeah, well friends listen to each other, and you clearly didn't listen to me. We need to talk in a civilised way that doesn't involve ranting and tantrums and screaming at each other. And as for what you said, because _I know_ how to listen, have you ever heard that old saying? One's an incident, two's a coincidence and three's a pattern. This is the third time we've done this little song and dance. This is now officially a _thing_."

"Clearly someone's been watching a little too much _Teen Wolf_," Barry retorted.

"Clearly it takes one to know one," Caitlin answered back, sounding as though she'd stopped crying.

Barry hoped that meant they were making progress. He noticeably softened as he said, "That doesn't mean it's a thing. The first two instances were on the same night, and that was the night we had the meeting about Wells. We were all upset, and we were all kinda just saying stuff out of anger. It was almost like when Bivolo whammied me. We weren't really ourselves that night."

Caitlin paused before she drawled, "And there's where the problem lies. You weren't really yourself a few days ago either. I mean, not in the same way, but yeah."

"Wait, so did Everyman do something when he was disguised as me? Like, something _particularly _bad? Something to you?"

"I shouldn't have said anything. It was nothing, don't worry about it."

"There you go again."

"I'm sorry?"

"No, you're not, so don't say that you are. You're doing it to me again. You are _needlessly _keeping secrets from me, Caitlin, and I've had enough of it! I thought that you were one of the few people I didn't have to keep secrets from, and that it was the same vice versa. I guess I was wrong. I guess it only goes one way."

"Now don't you dare start comparing me to Iris!"

"Who said anything about Iris?"

The colour drained from her face as she realised what she'd said. The silence that followed was deafening, the tension achingly grating.


	6. Time Vault

**A continuation of last chapter. This is the second last chapter by the way, hope you like it!**

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Not knowing what else to do, Caitlin quietly and gently opened the door at last. As her nervous eyes found his worriedly exasperated ones, she scoured her brain for something to say. She couldn't let the silence last long enough to become too awkward.

"Well… that 2024 newspaper certainly had a lot to say about her," she muttered, almost inaudibly.

"Wait, hold on. Is that what's been bothering you? The damn newspaper? When did this become about that? Isn't this about Everyman?"

"Stop asking me so many questions at once Barry, I can barely breathe, let alone answer them all!" she snapped before briskly walking away from him again.

Letting out a frustrated sigh that ended in a grunt, Barry shouted "Don't walk away from me, please! I am so done with this, just please tell me what's wrong! Is it Everyman or is it the newspaper?"

"It's none of your business Barry! I'm not a distressed damsel that needs the Flash to come and save me. I'll be fine without you."

The last thing she said really struck a nerve in Barry. He'd officially had enough.

"You know what? Fine! Be that way. I can't help you if I don't even know what it is that's bothering you, so I'm not even gonna try anymore. I'm the freaking Flash for God's sake; I'm sure there are plenty of people out there right now who will be a lot easier to help than you, and who will be a lot more appreciative of my efforts!"

"It's both!"

"Excuse me?"

There was no point fighting this pointless fight anymore. Caitlin was relenting. It had been bad enough that Barry's relationship with his best friend had spent months deteriorating from the strain of an unshared, major secret. The very least that Caitlin could do was be open with him.

"I… will explain everything. But it might take some time. Sit down with me? Can we go somewhere that we won't be interrupted, for maybe ten minutes?"

Looking surprisingly calm, Barry took a breath.

"OK," he lightly sighed, "we can go into the Time Vault."

Caitlin suppressed a shudder at the thought that that was the same room that had shattered her heart, still not fully healed from the trauma of Ronnie's "death" and his later leaving her. But she quietly agreed, and soon they found themselves side-by-side against the one of the shiny white walls, sitting cross-legged with Caitlin staring at the floor.

She began with a mumble, "The reason I've been… _off _lately: it's mostly Everyman."

Vaguely gesturing towards the screen displaying the newspaper article, she added, "But I'd be lying if I said that _that _had nothing to do with it. And I can't tell you why all of this bothers me so much because I haven't figured that out for myself yet. It shouldn't. But I don't know, I had so much fun doing wasted karaoke with you that one night, and after you dated Linda, I figured that Iris might not in fact be the be-all and end-all. And for so long, I've been so lonely, after losing the love of _my _life _twice_. Do I still love him? Of course I do, but with his and our situation so indefinite, so up in the air, I figured that it was time for me to move on. And us, we're so alike, you're one of my best friends. I'll admit that I _kind of_ entertained the possibility of an "us" for a little while, and although I was pretty sure you didn't feel the same way, I was weirdly OK with that. It was just a little fantasy, a little wishful thinking, so it was OK. Then Everyman just strutted in here, wearing your body, and he…

He was shocked at her revelations, but currently all Barry could focus on was her trailed-off sentence. Barry bit his lip in annoyed anticipation; a habit he'd picked up from her.

"…he kissed me."

Barry took that as his cue to let his eyes go wide and his mouth agape, but there was nothing he could say. He felt a little queasy with all the different thoughts rushing through his head faster than he could run, but while he was working out how to react, it became clear that she still wasn't finished yet.

"I was freaked out when it happened the first time, but, I mean, you have tried to kiss me before, and then he did it again and I _kissed him back _and then it wasn't you. And things weren't the same. I couldn't just happily go back to my little fantasy after _that_. It was impossible. And now, after seeing that newspaper, whether it's real or not, I feel horrid, because I know Iris, she's the only one you ever see, she's the love of your life, and I can really see why. She is perfect for you Barry, and she's not stupid, so it's inevitable that one day she'll wake up and realise that."

At this point, Barry's jaw was firmly cemented to the floor. He hauled it back up when he studied her face, and found an expression that conveyed a desire to cry, but being too emotionally drained to do so. Immediately, his arm went around her, pulling her close. As he spoke, he turned his face away, not brave enough to make eye contact.

"Look, in terms of my love life, I don't mean to lead you on or anything, but I will say this; I'm not going to let a newspaper that may or may not actually be from the future dictate my life choices. I do love Iris, but things with her and I are currently also pretty up in the air. I think she loves Eddie more than she could ever love me, and I know that he wants to marry her. She is my best friend, but she knows I'm keeping secrets from her, and that's hurting her and our friendship badly. And I do like you Caitlin, I really do, but at this point I really don't think either of us is in a place where we can be anything more than friends. We need to be over our first loves before we can move on. And in the end, we may end up with each other or with other people, we don't know yet. The question of us can't be answered until the questions of me and Iris and you and Ronnie are. I don't think either of us deserves to be anyone's second choice. Does that make sense?"

He finally looks at her and is greeted by a weak smile with straining eyes brimmed by tears. She responds, "That's all I needed to hear. I think you're right, but I'd like to ask a small favour."

Barry gives her a brief nod and an expectant look.

Lips trembling, vulnerability showing, she asks, "Would you mind kissing me, just once, just so I can know that I've kissed the real you, just once? You don't have to say yes if it makes you uncomfortable."

He takes her face gently in his hands, before whispering matter-of-factly, "Of course. Anything for you."

And the kiss isn't magical. It isn't amazing, and it isn't passionate. It's quick and it's chaste but it does the job. Afterwards, Caitlin thanks him, and that's all there is to it.


End file.
